You're Ashes I'm Ashes
by Lenap
Summary: magical AU! Where John is Healer and Sherlock is Necromancer. I'm translating it from russain (and it's almost finished) and need beta! because I have only 5 chaps beted, number 6 and other 7 more need their new beta!
1. Chapter 1

He had nothing to offer this man. John already regretted that he had listened to Stamford and decided to contact this dark magician. Oh, Consulting Dark Mage, he mentally corrected himself. He had no money to pay for services for, according to Mike, one of the most talented and brilliant wizards in London, and maybe even in Britain. Johnwas not someone important and did not have any significant connections. Nothing. He just desperately wanted to fix something instead ofwaiting for the decision of the Ministry.

If not for the sudden encounter with his old friend in the park, John would have never thought to ask for help of this particular person. It had not even occurred to him to find Mike and asked him for assistance in the first place. If he knew that Stamford would be able to help him from the start, he would not have been forced to wonder through London calling unwanted attention to himself.

"John? John Watson?! I heard you have returned, but did not believe the rumors. What a pleasant surprise . And I can see that you definitely need help.

John did not plan to share any circumstances of his life with an old friend, but it all came out by itself. And maybe he subconsciously wanted to talk to somebody. After carefully hearing him out Stamford clarified:

"So you are ready use any option offered?"

"Now that I m in a position where I need to grab any opportunity replied John. Did you have anyone in mind?"

"I can indeed introduce you to someone." Mike looked at him over his glasses. "A friend of mine just specializes on... let s say, all sorts of curses."

"So he is a Healer?" John decided to ignore Mike s subtle avoidance of discussing the Mage s profession for now.

"Not at all! Holmes knows Anatomy, and he is a first-class Alchemist. Although it does seem that healing was never systematically studied by him. I would say that he is possessed with elemental magic, and it s positively callousness!"

"I don t mind meeting him. However if something does not suit me I ll simply depart. How can I reach this person?"

"Right now? He is probably sitting in the Library. He either doesn t go there for weeks or is sitting there constantly. If you want we can head to the University right away."

John immediately agreed.

"So what does your mysterious friend do for living? I always thought that a very limited number of people have access to the Library. Does he teach? "

"Oh thank the Gods no! The poor students wouldn t have survived that, never mind his fellow teachers! Sherlock Holmes is consulting mage."

"Consulting?"

"Yes, and loves to repeat that he invented the job."

"Huh, never heard of him."

"You were out of London far too long, so I m not surprised that you know nothing about him. Well, he has provided a few invaluable services for the University, and so was granted the privilege to use any of its facilities without limitation."

"Wow!" whistled John.

From the park they went to the University grounds, reminiscing back to their student years. John laughed to tears remembering the details of how they once they managed to release a pack of pixie from the Laboratory. And how everyone, from faculty staff to students, then tried to catch the mischievous creatures in all of the classrooms.

The red brick walls of their alma mater were glowing with the usual soft yellow light visible only to those who knew what to look at. The rare student respectfully greeted Stamford and occasionally threw wary glances John s way. So he knew that they were not lost cases if they could see something strange in him. Maybe in the future they would become great Healers.

Mike took him to the Library, bypassing the guards, and not allowing them to touch John for which he was very grateful to Stamford for. He did not know how the guards would react to his presence.

The rows of books were dappled with colored spines. John looked around thoughtfully and sighed deeply. He liked the smell of old books. It reminded him of his parents home library; the same smell of paper, leather and old wood with a light touch of dust. Only now memories of that smell mingled with the barely perceptible high notes of ink.

John centered himself. He did not come here to indulge in memories of his childhood. The Library was empty, yet in the far corner leaning over the weighty volumes stood, by John s standards, a young man.

Expensive clothes was the first thing he noticed, the shoes obviously cost more than what he could afford to spend in several months. All in all, the appearance and behavior of Sherlock Holmes radiated wealth and power. Within the grey walls of the University, surrounded by old tomes and scrolls, Holmes looked surprisingly appropriate. And John had a feeling that he had already heard that name somewhere before.

"Holmes, this is my former classmates, John Watson."

John involuntarily wincedat the servile tone of his former classmate. Grey eyes made him impulsively shiver and brace for an attack. But the attack never came. He was surprised at the ease with which this stranger made him nervous with just one glance. Tall, thin, but hard to understand what was hidden by the expensive suit: a leanness or sinewy muscle. John estimated his chances in fight quite high.

Intuition told him that he wouldn t be lucky to exchange any courtesies. How strongly? Well let s just say John suspected Mr. Holmes did not even consider it necessary to bother himself with the usual rules of decorum.

"Afghanistan or Iraq?"

"Sorry, what?" John turned to stare at Stamford, but his only response was a slight shrug. Mike looked as if he was only looking for an excuse to leave. Somewhere far far away if possible.

"Afghanistan." John turned and replied.

In response he just heard a low murmur. Having lost all interest in him, Holmes had returned to reading the book in front of him, which he had carefully been studying before they came.

"Well I suppose that wasn t too hard to guess." John replied as if he had not been dismissed. Mike glanced at him in full horror. "Any person with observation skills, particular knowledge and rudiments of logical thinking could have guessed that. My military bearing and a cane probably gave me away."

Holmes looked at him again. John froze at the eye contact and putted his weight to his uninjured leg, shifting his body into a fighting stance. It was incredible how one single look could provoke such a storm of conflicting emotions in him. The desire to escape while he could, as well as the excitement, challenge, and chill of fear all mixed with the threat of palpable danger and perplexity.

"Will you have time for me?"

"I don t discuss work here."

John, once again, has to settle forthe contemplation of other s predatory profile. A few moments later Holmes straightened and turned to Stamford who was standing quietly.

"Give me your phone, my battery is low."

"Ah, I seem to have forgotten it downstairs in my coat." Mike shrugged apologetically and wilted even more.

John had no choice but to get his mobile out of his pocket and give it to Holmes. The mage smoothly jumped from his chair and was next to him not two steps later; towering John with his rather high figure. John felt the intrusion to his personal space to be quite uncomfortable. He, like Stamford, desperately wanted to be as far away from this man as possible. And in an ideal world he would be able to solve this problem without the involvement of this man. Something was wrong here. John did not understand what it was, and that in itself was a very worrying sign. Usually, he could read aura in an instant. But Holmes had an aura like a smoky cocoon. John had never seen anything like it before, even in dark wizards.

Once the phone was casually returned, John was left with only one thing to do; watch as the mage dexterously put on the expensive coat and tied scarf with finesse and grace. It was near the door that Holmes suddenly turned around to John and winked.

"The address is 221B Baker Street, tonight at eight and don t be late. Mike, put all the books back where they belong." With that he was gone.

John frowned and squeezed the handle of his cane with force.

"Are you sure it s a good idea to turn to this guy for help?" With every passing second the prospect of working with this strange mage seemed less and less attractive.

"You know, John, it s your decision, but if anyone can help you in this town it s Sherlock Holmes, and Sherlock Homes alone."


	2. Chapter 2

The first thing he noticed was the endless network of magic runes on all visible surfaces. The walls, floor, furniture were covered with little glowing circles and signs. Elegant ligature throbbed with primal magic. If John did not know for sure, he would have decided that the house at Baker Street 221B was standing on the Source.

The amount of protection, security and outlet spells spoke about the incredible talent and strength of the magician, who inflicted them. And unlikely they have been created by Mrs. Hudson, though by first impression she was experienced, but pretty mediocre witch. Well, if Holmes was really powerful wizard, then he, John Watson, had a chance.

With Mrs. Hudson he got acquainted with when she finally let him in, after his long talk with the door lock, who did not want to knock first, and then knocked strange tune. He was desperate to get inside when the door suddenly opened and he was greeted by elderly witch with low-luminous aura of a person at sunset of life and magical powers. She kindly showed him inside while smiling little private smile. And if he was confused a bit by that he tried his best to look at ease.

John stood in the doorway, not daring to enter further. If he has properly read the runes on the doorjamb, uninvited guest could be thrown anywhere after even one step into the room. Although technically he had an invitation from a magician, who all this time watched him from the couch with mild curiosity, John decided not to risk it.

"Good evening, Mr. Holmes. I can enter?"

"Just Sherlock, please. And yes, be my guest."

As soon as he crossed the invisible line, wards began pulsing brighter. John uncertainly looked around. If not pay attention to the mess he was impressed. He had never seen so many artifacts collected in one place. Vaguely resembling a similar collection he had seen only twice in his life. Once - in the guarded museum in Dresden, and the second - in the darkened hut in Mongolia.

"Do you like what you see?"

"I... I'm impressed. Amazing!" John gasped in admiration. He walked over to a pile of books stacked casually near a chair. It seemed that similar publications he met only in protected section of the London Library. And that was the most complete repository of ever created magical books. Although he could be biased. But in his defense he could tell that but when it was possible, he did not visit some restricted section. First, there was no time, and then no longer a necessity. When John decided to become a Healer, he did not think that his abilities will extend far beyond the scope defined by the class.

"Thank you. Have a seat."

John carefully measured the proposed chair, and the longer he looked at it, the less he liked what he saw. Under it on the floor throbbed not just a protective circle; the intersection of five pentagrams was truly dangerous. Once sited on the proposed char he risked to be captured in the Trap of Circles.

"Um ... I'd rather stand," why this Holmes had to check his ability to see traps, John could only guess.

"Oh! Let's keep him!" laughed unfamiliar voice.

John snapped and looked around in surprise. Human skull on the mantelpiece, before peacefully lying between ancient candelabra and a pile of books, now shone dim bluish glow. Apparently, the new voice belonged to him. Well, John was not even surprised; to some extent it met his expectations.

John poked his cane in the direction of the skull:

"And is this a real skull? You know, it's very discourteously to say such things to a person, and even more - in his presence."

Suddenly skull flashed with blue sparks and felt silent.

"Hmm ..." Holmes folded his hands in prayer gesture under the chin, "Interesting."

Surprisingly John felt at peace with non-stop magic ripple around him. He expected to feel anxiety and worry. Due to his line of work he often had to encounter with a variety of dark wizards, and usually, it meant a lot of trouble. But this time it was somehow different.

Before the meeting, he brought some inquiries about this Holmes guy. Not many knew about him, more heard, but all flatly refused to talk about him. Well from the reputation of a truly powerful dark wizard he did not expect less.

"I come to you privately", said John, "I want this visit to be as discreet as possible. Particularly to the Ministry."

"Yes, yes! You have so much tracking spells on you that I wonder how you're still not jingle while walking. You can't be a Healer. There must be some sort of mistake."

Holmes suddenly rose; a coffee table with an unpleasant screech rode away, when the magician strode to John. They stood frozen in front of each other.

"And yet I'm the Healer," he had to raise his head to be able to look into the magician's eyes.

"Any good?"

"Very good in fact."

Holmes examined him with undisguised interest, probing the air around him with searching look. John decided to try to see. But all two attempts that he dared to implement without attracting attention did not succeed. Space around Holmes was throbbing while thickening, but he still saw only a smoky cocoon.

"It's very powerful curse. The amount of energy and effort put in it to work is magnificent."

"So it is", John sadly agreed. He himself knew that, and if he could at least do something about it, there would not be any reason for him to associate with a warlock. "Can you remove it?"

"Yes."

Unwavering confidence was pouring from a magician. Holmes suddenly stretched out his hand, but never touched.

"Your cane. It is very unusual. Rare tree, knob with carvings usually created in Central Asia. Most likely, a gift. If not for this thing, you would not even be able to walk ..." Holmes suddenly stopped talking.

If not for the old shaman that found him thrown to die in the midst of nowhere, he would not have even this dubious chance for salvation. To break the silence, John finally decided to address the delicate issue of payment.

"I really can't give you much, but I'm skilled in crafting. And also a Healer. We can have a deal," as his little speech didn't have any effect on Holmes John decided to offer the single powerful item he had that could be of any interest to dark mage. "You must have felt very strong artifact that I carry. I'll give it to you in exchange for your help."

"And if you are truly any good you may have noticed that I do not need. And yes, your intuition is not cheating on you. All of these runes are imposed to contain my power, I don't any more means to make it stronger."

"What can I offer to you then?" of course, John felt that something was not right with all the wards in this place, but who could blame him for blind hope.

"Unpayable debt."

John visibly paled. This was serious. After agreement he risked becoming dependent to the magician, which he knew practically nothing about.

"Do all of your customers owe you this much?"

"No. Only the interesting ones."

Holmes stepped closer. His close presence forced spells that fetter his magic pulse and tremble. It looked as if the mage was not familiar with the concept of personal space, but John did not come to educate him on this topic.

"You want to go back. If the Ministry wanted you to be free of this curse you wouldn't be standing here... But they only put tracking spells and returned you to civilization. You light so bright. Nothing can put away this spark," Sherlock whispered, leaning toward him. "Do you Agree?"

Gray eyes looked in his in fascination. John was ready to answer in agreement, when at the last moment caught himself in mid-sentence.

"I ag ... I ... I need to think," John threw stupor and took a step back. It was too much to handle the towering presence of mage, who did not even try to look guilty about brought wraith. "I need time to think everything through."


	3. Chapter 3

Drip. Drip. Drip

John hated his flat with all the passion that remained in him. If he had a choice, he would never have stayed in this hole, which is mistakenly called flats. However, it was the only kind of place he could afford to rent on his pension. He was lucky to even have this after being considered missing for more than six months and then declared dead.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

No Matter what he did; despite how hard he tried with his limited abilities, the protection that he so patiently and painstakingly superimposed on the walls and shoddy door still blurred time after time. Erased by the magical imbalance of the dilapidated building; a place John even didn't try to call his new home.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The old house was filled with memory of the past, which it generously resonated through a magic Echo for John. When his nightmares receded; leaving only emptiness and disappointment, there always came phantoms. They seeped through his useless defense, filling the room with a dark trembling smoke. And so every time afterwards, the ripple of an Echo erased all of his signs from all surfaces with finality.

John turned his head sideways to see dark clots slowly swirling along the walls, which then faded beige again as if they had never shone from his magic. The phantoms were attracted by a small Source with which John now never parted. The Artifact, which Holmes so easily refused to take and that John himself really cherished.

Drip. Drip. Drip

When listening to the heavy patter of water dripping had worn his patience thin, John forced himself to stir out of the slightly wet sheets and climb out of bed. The clock showed a miserable four am. He long ago waved goodbye to the notion of a goodnight's sleep, so it made no sense to wait longer to start another monotonous day.

John swept the dark smoke with a wave of his cane, brushed down the remnants of clots clinging to his legs and went to the small kitchen. He almost didn't sense an unpleasant tingling; only cold ran along his spine. The phantoms had nothing to take from him due to his now weak magical powers.

His neighborhood had no "pure" buildings. And there were no magicians living here of even medium strength. Although that did not mean that evil spirits had nothing to do in this part of London. Far from it; emotion and vitality are considered no less desirable to magic in terms of sustenance.

Today John had one of many of his required appointments to attend. As if someone else's weak magic could help him. It was as if everyone had suddenly forgotten that until recently, he, John Hamish Watson, was a practicing Healer himself. Moreover, he knew much more beyond his selected class.

And today he was met by a new Healer; a dark-skinned, pleasant woman; who seemed promising to him. Despite this fact, even with his disabilities, he clearly saw a weak magician; whose job now was to help him back to life in a magical society. John was so very tempted to ask what happened to Mr. Deilock, his former Healer. But he restrained himself. While not the most prestigious of positions for one such as his Class, the job was no less vital. That anyone would just quit such a post so languidly was surprising for John, especially now.

John had spent only three weeks in London, and already became tired of the indifference of the Ministry, and the incompetence of people worked with the least affluent stratum of society, to which he now belonged. And do not forget the Bureaucracy. Not to say that he hadn't experienced it before; he met incompetence in various forms and guises over the years, only now it was strange to fully realize his helplessness.

"I read your profile ... Only family is a sister. Hmm ... Studied at the University. Extensive practice on three continents. Successful military career. You have an excellent track record." The tone of his new Healer was difficult to read. John did not know if she was surprised or puzzled. "And you just thirty eight ... Intelligence - 110. Aggressiveness - 145, when the normal range is 90. Hmm ... Characteristics, control tests... so, so... your magic level is quite weak now, and it continues to drop. If this continues and there is even the slightest chance of imbalance, I'm afraid you will be Marked."

John clenched cane as the only source of salvation. Familiar runes engraved on it dug into the skin of his palms. It was too early for him to sink in desperation. The worst thing that could happen to a magician in their world had not happened yet. And if John was lucky, this fate would over pass him. There was always Holmes with his unspeakable proposition. And if he had to choose between an unpayable debt and the prospect to live with the Mark and never be allowed to conjure for the rest of his life - the choice was obvious.

Twice in his life John had worked in settlements of the Marked as a Healer. It was not the most pleasant experience. Without any doubt it was better to be the weakest mage than not to have even the faintest spark of magic.

"How do you find life in London after your return?"

John gritted his teeth and turned to face the window.

"Nothing really happens to me."

That was both right and wrong at the same time. There was nothing of importance happening in his life. Only monotony mixed with the dissatisfaction of the whole situation. Really nothing happened of which he could tell the woman sitting across from him, and not get himself into trouble.

How could he tell her that the city of his wild youth in the 12 years of his absence had changed beyond recognition? He did not want to tell her how each time crossing roads he had to choose a new route due to the ever-changing magical Storms, which threatened to leave him entirely without power or transported to an unknown destination. How could he tell her about his despair at the infected houses, abandoned children and elderly he passed every day, but really had no means to help? He no longer had the strength, which could be shared. And the crumbs he now had left were only suited to disperse harmless evils and put up a weak protection. And while this little feat was enough for his neighbors, who didn't even know such simple magic. The sad fact of the matter was that he could not to tell her where the last of his remaining strength was going.

Or that he cut off all ties with his sister and distant relatives who had not seen him as he was, or didn't want to. He continued to live by his past accomplishments; not taking the fact that the curse had just radically changed his life. He would never be the same again.

How could he share all of this and did not sound like he was a child complaining?

"John, you have to talk to me. As your supervising Healer, I not only have to report to the Ministry, but also must appoint your Inspector and help with Registration. Soon it will be a month since you got back; there is no point in postponing this question. But I would like to make the decision after at least some progress."

"I understand."

Of course John agreed. He'd realized that that with his changed status he had to go through the Registry again. He tried to be practical and not to be consoled with the vain hope that even after lifting the curse he would be able to return to class of Healers. There was a vague chance that he could work as assistant in any hospital or clinic; with his experience and knowledge, much would be relevant.

"How much time do I have?"

'Not long, I'm afraid. About three days. Two of your previous supervisors delayed the Registration... But the circumstances of your return and change of the status weren't … emmm… normal. Today we'll go through some more tests and I may be able to assign you additional time. I'm really worried about the drop in your magical powers.".

John chuckled to himself. Even in his current level he could tell the difference between a simple fatigue; from overspending the power, and a leakage. He was embarrassed for his country and government, which did not seem to bother to provide good care for their most vulnerable citizens.

Regular tests did not show anything new or unexpected. Therefore he had no reason to delay Registration any more. In two days time he was due for another visit to the Main Building of the Ministry of Magic. Last time he almost did not remember it, lost in the fog of fever, for which he was secretly grateful. He could only guess how he could respond to the all spells imposed on him when fully conscious.

His train of thought was interrupted by unexpected message received from an unknown number. As if sensing his hesitation, even through the distance between them, the only consulting dark mage asked:

_Have you decided something already? SH_

While many would find such persistence unnerving, John was not quite desperate enough to say yes to the rather insane condition Holmes' required for payment. Although, he had to admit, the prospect of getting rid of the curse and regain a semblance of his former life was very tempting.


	4. Chapter 4

Comments are greatly appreciated)

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><p>Rune reading was not very fancy, yet it was highly effective. From the depths of an old canvas bag John drew ritual candles and bowls. Necessary runes that were carefully made of wood were also extracted from the bag.<p>

Everyday walks through a dull neighborhood, quite tedious he might add, had been apart of his exercise regime and finally (paid off/ brought results. John was lucky enough to stumble upon a place of nature in the territory of one of the abandoned houses. Greens had won a place to call home from the dirty brick walls and cracked asphalt, and now were pleasing to the eye with their emerald hue. Rare trees reached thin branches towards the sun, and John could not help but admire such tenacity.

This place had led him to thinking about Rune Reading. It was an almost perfect site for the rite. He only had to impose some spells to scare small spirits and seek all the necessary ingredients. Re-registration after so many years did not warrant any change in his situation, so it would not hurt to try his luck in the rite and ask Destiny. And for this he had only two days left.

John carefully drew a plain pentagram on the ground. He then stuck candles on the edges and set the bowls. They splashed with clear water, blood caught of the rat and red wine. In the fourth he put honey of wild bees. The hardest part was not getting Holy Water, as it wasn't that much out of his way to wander through a church, but the honey; the real stuff and not the pitiful excuse that was sold in Tesco. To get it he had to barter a luck amulet that he had made in Afghanistan, and now did not work for him.

In the middle he placed the big flat dish, throwing some soil on the bottom. After bowing in the four directions, John froze, only his lips began to move quickly. He asked for the blessing of the Norns of which, by Skuld (1), he wanted to be heard most of all. The blessing sign roused the air for but a moment, a portent that everything would go smoothly, and he would get his answers.

A small dagger with a burnt handle served him as the ritual knife. Long ago, dull metal flashed from the ashes of memory, he'd found it in a ruined shack on the outskirts of a broken house, drawing his attention with the shining of its small red semiprecious stones. He tenderly touched the black dents and made quick to ward off unwelcome thoughts. After the dagger followed other parts of the rite; a white falcon feather, the dried leaves of the datura-herb, and a yellowed wolf's tooth. All this he found on the shelves of a witches stall at Camden Market.  
>In the morning John had looked out the window, and was met with heavy dark clouds that covered the sky; ready to explode their cold drops of rain. The understanding then came that it was the right day. Nature was ready to wash gray houses and the streets of London. So he chose his new destiny and wanted to look behind the veil of the future; the rain was a good omen.<br>Candles spontaneously burst to life dispersing reluctant dampness. John leaned over the wooden runes and whispered words of the ritual, which was even known by elementary school students. He then dipped the runes in bowls till "colored." He calmly took the dagger in his hands; it flashed its reflections reassuringly at him. A short swing and tight drops of blood finally fell into the black earth from the fresh wound on his hand. John threw sharply and began to put together meanings of the dropped runes.

First came two runes: The Herald of the Horn, and the Eye; it came twice. So it turned out that he could choose the path of Calling Seer, and that someone was watching him.

Next came the rune with a trunk, or the rune of ownership. It turned out that he had something to gain, but much to lose. The rune with an animal with horns and hump said that something will end in his life, but something else will begin. And then lastly, the runes that gave nothing as if they were silenced; divided into two tracks: on the one hand - all the good, on the other – all the bad. And there his path lay down the middle; dodging side all the time.

"Calling Seer," John tried the words aloud, and found it was surprisingly pleasant. There was something new and unexpected in them. The Class of Oracles and Seers never held any sway of interest for him. He never liked the uncertainty and variability of the magic with which predictors usually worked. And the rather elaborate rituals made him quite despondent. But if one took into account the Subclass of Summoning, which was an indisputable advantage, he had every chance to learn to call upon the desired visions.

Healing had always attracted John with its efficiency, simple spells and tangible results, which was very far from the changing nature of predicting the future. Besides, he'd never had a predisposition for visions, and it was still hard to believe that the curse had changed so much.

John meticulously cleaned up after himself, and even took the trouble to dispel ethereal reverberations. He was not afraid that he would get caught, reassured more from habit of being careful than anything else. He did not have so much power as to disturb anybody with the sudden Surge, and the ritual initially attracted him precisely because of its simplicity.

He would have a lot to remember, a lot to learn, but the study of a new class was not a bad idea.

He could not shake off the oppressive foreboding. May be it was his new found Gift, although he found he believed more in his developed intuition that had often helped him in healing. Now intuition told him to be prepared for new problems. There was no hope in Re-registration, and he could not afford to lie to himself - the prospect of getting the Mark truly terrified him.

John always saw the magic in the world around him as a glowing rapid stream of pure energy, but now after what he went through, he only saw a wall as if made from dirty glass. Wherever he looked, he was surrounded by glass, sometimes thicker, sometimes quite subtle. As when he had visited Holmes, he had a feeling that everything around him distractedly lost half of its colors. And he had neither the strength nor the ability to break the damn glass.

A simple ringtone filled the air with strange animation. John hurried to take the call, returning the gloomy place its silence; only broken now by his rapid breathing and a distant voice from the speaker. He did not even have to look at the display to know who had called.

"Hello, Sherlock."

"John." The calm voice made his heart beat faster; disturbing his magic and making the invisible glass before his eyes more cloudy. "You …"

The world exploded with a million different colors. He blinked and tried to stand up not understanding when he had had time to fall. A sharp pain shot through the whole body, which seemed a bit empty and very light. When the walls were no longer dancing, changing places with the ceiling, and he was able to focus his eyes and look around, John saw that he was lying surrounded by an unbearable radiance. It was like a dome of clean uncomplicated magic closed him off to the world.

He could not even lift a finger from the shock, and just lay on the ground, trying to understand what had just happened. Watery eyes caught the familiar shape of a lasso that repeatedly slipped off the glowing dome. Someone had persistently tried to find him, John Watson, and had had no luck so far.

Gradually John got his hearing back. He was able to catch a vague melody wafting from the side. The screen annoyingly shone with name of the one and only consulting dark wizard, and John did not have the slightest desire to continue with the call. Especially now.

He gritted his teeth and rolled onto his side. The shoulder responded with unbearably aching; recalling the wound left by an arrow with a curse.

The reaction could not be the Recoil from the rite. But now at least he knew that his forefeeling did not fail him. His troubles and problems seemed only to continue to accumulate over time. And if a common search spell had such consequences, what would happen during the Re-registration assessment? Now that was something even he was afraid to predict.

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><p>(1) - Skuld or one of the Norns which in Norse mythology presents three witches, endowed with gift to determine the fate of the world, people and even the gods. Name Skuld means the future.<p> 


	5. Chapter 5

Some words about story progress. I planned to write about 14-15 chaps total for this part. And now I'm at chap 12, it's even half done. As for translated ones this is the last I have that is beted. And as I'm sadly without beta I really don't know then the next update will be. Sorry, my dears, but I decided not to post my really-really not very good translations and this way to avoid misunderstanding or even not understanding of the story. Plus, I want to avoid bad imhression.

Also, after I finish this part I will make some notes about this au world with a sort of insight of how it works. I understand that it can be confusing, but Ieally try to show its sides through the story.

As soon as I find beta or beta will find me, there will be more interesting stuff with rituals, case and meeting all people from the show as, of course, I decided to include them.

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><p>"Mr Holmes?! What are you doing here?"<p>

Going on a last name basis was a logical step when, after returning to his bedside, he found a bored Holmes flipping through his personal diary, on which John had pointedly imposed several locking spells. The day turned out to be an unpleasant one, so he sees no point in being polite to this man. The fact that the dark mage was sitting calmly on the single most uncomfortable chair near the bed, indicated at least that the spells guards his secret cache had not activated, Otherwise he would be in for a rather nasty surprise in the form of John's illegal gun and a most unpleasant curse to get rid of.

John vaguely remembered how he got to his apartment; the world around him blended into a continuous stream of bleary memories. He was not happy with the brusque invasion of his personal space. Holmes on his part did not look impressed or ashamed, but rather annoyed at such predictable responses and boring social norms. The bedside clock confirmed John's suspicions that, instead of the usual twenty minutes, the way back to his place had taken more than two hours. He'd spent half a day leading his residual magic flow on a merry goose chase. The place was almost deserted, so there was a significant chance that any magic residue pulse from the ritual might have gone unnoticed, but John chose to play it safe and not lead any direct trace to chance.

"Again, what are you doing here?"

"I have a business proposition for you. Perhaps the Runes already showed you something, but do not think that they are completely reliable."

John frowned; he had destroyed the bag and its contents, no matter how sorry he was to have lost the masterfully made bowls, nothing could possibly have betrayed him.

"Of course, it was a Rune Reading ritual," said Holmes, as if John voiced his doubts aloud. "Bad enough that you are no longer a healer, add a significant drop of magical potency, and uncertain future prospects in regards to Re-registration, and we have only one logical conclusion: A Rune Reading. The way to get all the answers you want that's easily available, uncomplicated, and in some cases highly efficiently. Although in my opinion, there are far more effective rituals when it comes to blood."

"You tried to freshen up a bit afterwards, but on your trousers and cane one can see traces of earth and grass. Not things found together anywhere nearby this pitiful place. I believe the ritual knife used is now tucked under your belt. You could have gotten rid of it, as you did with the other tools for the ritual, but you did not. Rather, the item holds some sentimental component for you, and was not needed for cutting grass. A few drops of blood fell on your jacket sleeve. While they are almost invisible, they are impossible to confuse with something else. Putting all these facts together is easy, drawing the right conclusions – well that's the complicated part. Isn't that right, former Healer Watson?"

John nodded slowly.

"The ritual is not difficult, for the sake of all gods; every child knows it. It does not require any special knowledge or effort. Only the skill to read the runes," Holmes tone became rather grouchy. John suspected the many variations of Rune readings irritated Holmes quite strongly, who clearly liked logical chains and findings, and did not tolerate variations in the interpretation.

"But you had covered all traces carefully before the pulse. The only conclusion of such precautions, you do not have official permission to do witchcraft. You have not been given permission, just having been released from the hospital, lodged in this horrible place and given an incompetent appointed curator."

John nervously clenched the handle of his cane. He really was not given permission to do spell craft, and each time, even just using the most basic household spells, he risked much. He did not like this place, but this area had one indisputable advantage - there were very few people who would report illicit witchcraft rituals. Agents of the Ministry did not dare show their high held noses in these slums.

"Having no authorization, of course, will greatly complicate your life if you expect to use the results of the rite in the case of failed Re-registration ... Oh, you expect to get rid of that with a fine. Well, of course unlikely, but the law allows for such."

"I do not even want to know how you know this about me. You understand that this is akin to stalking?"

"Or maybe I just asked the right people. It is not difficult for one with my capabilities."

Wearily John spread a hand over his face. His shoulder ached unbearably, recalling his experiences. If it was not for Holmes' presence, he would have collapsed, exhausted on the bed, finally giving his leg a rest after all the walking he did.

"Well, as you seem to know all about me, I'm fine, now leave."

Holmes finally put his diary aside and took a step towards him.

"It's less than two days until your Re-registration. The probability of getting the Mark is now close to 90 percent. You and I both know that the cause to get marked now is not a diminishing strength or an instability of your gift. Today's Pulse was felt not only by me. An emission so strong has not been observed for several years. Imagine my surprise when I was hit with such recoil from an elementary search spell."

"It was you! But why?!"

John ignored Holmes' statement of an entirely different nature of instability than what's listed in his official magical discharge report.

"I simply decided to check on a prospective client. And if not for my level of protection, we would not be having this conversation."

Of course, John had figured that bit out. Bathed in a cold sweat, he tried to dispel any reminder of his presence and any trace of unexpected powerful burst. He did not relish being caught before the Re-registration. With meager chances as it is for at least some positive result, he could not risk it. Therefore, he had to recall his time as a healer and all the tricks he knew as a wild youth.

"You took your time returning. Do you know how boooored I was?"

"What is your proposal?" John inquired. He even wondered what Holmes would come up with this time.

"A contract. With special conditions."

"A contract ..." John repeated slowly, feeling that he was ready to listen and consider the proposal. He liked Holmes. Call him irrational, but even the dark side of Holmes' strength did not scare him, rather it appealed to him. He had worked with dark wizards more than once before, and did not suffer conventional prejudices about them.

Holmes gestured gracefully and extracted a rolled scroll made from yellow parchment from the air, and handed it to John. The touch of his hand unfurled the scroll, showing neat lines written in calligraphy. In their time, few people cared about such details as high quality paper or handwritten text. And not everyone can afford such luxury. It was really very posh of Holmes.

John reread the text compiled by an independent lawyer, if one believed the stamps and signatures that is. Surprisingly, it turned out to be a standard contract of partnership, although there were just a few strange conditions. Nothing terrible like the sale of his immortal soul. Such agreements were often created by magicians with different levels of strength and knowledge so as to work or travel together.

"Can I add my conditions?" As hard as he tried, John could not find any tricks or hidden clauses, but decided to play it safe.

"You have until tomorrow. I will need your answer at noon," Holmes nodded irritably and stood back. He was now not looming over John, forcing him to lift his head to look into grey eyes.

"Why did you require an unplayable debt in the beginning when it was possible doing a contract?"

"Worth a try, might you agree?" Holmes smirked.

For a second his pale face and sharp cheekbones were like a skull with skin. It reminded John that he had to deal not just with a dark wizard, but, if rumors had you believe, a necromancer as well. He never saw any confirmation of such speculations, but such dubious infamy could not arise from nowhere.

"How often do people agree?" Now John was really curious. He preferred not to think that he himself had been ready to give up and answer yes. But this Holmes did not need to know that.

"You would be surprised if you knew how often, John. Not many people think about the consequences of such an agreement."

John rubbed his eyes wearily. The room became even darker; the faint glow of lamps that he'd conjured to switch on and off automatically had not dispelled the gathering darkness. The sickening realization suddenly struck him, and he looked around anxiously. John had been too focused on Holmes to see something was amiss until it was too late.

The familiar dark smoke crawled clinging to the walls. The phantoms were no longer hiding, and greedily clung to Holmes, making his already high figure bulky and heavier. John overcame the pain in his leg, and hobbled to the door.

"Merlin's beard! Why didn't you bother to restore the wards?! How could you be so careless?!"

John tried to restore the broken spell. The wards should have lasted until the morning, if not for someone else's intervention. And now he had neither the strength nor the time to stop the invasion. The phantoms from all the building rushed to them, attracted by a powerful magician. John did not think that this already lousy day could get any worse.

"Do something!"

"As you wish." Holmes untied his scarf around his neck and opened his cloak rather theatrically. His power surged and became even stronger. The room became even darker, and lights blinked out pathetically for the last time. Whatever the dark wizard was doing, it called for more phantoms, rather than scare them away. An increasing echo forced the windows to rattle plaintively, causing John to want to cover his ears. At some point, John could not resist and did so. He was afraid to close eyes and lose sight of Holmes, so he stubbornly resisted the urge to blink. The dark mage was almost invisible, John could only guess that bright spots were pale face and hands that were drawing something in the air.

Suddenly everything became very quiet. A weak echo swept the floors and disappeared.

"I can't believe you sealed the phantoms here!" The almost palpable dark smoke swirled around them, crawling into intricate shapes on the walls and ceiling.

"I did you a favor to all of your neighbors. And you never did specify what you wanted me to do."

"Yes. Well, sorry to be caught in a moment." John snorted dryly. "But now I have nowhere to live!" The prospect of an existence with all these phantoms was a horror in itself. The invisible glass around him shuddered with ripples.

"Oh, do calm down," Holmes huffed, grabbing his hands and gently shook him. "Otherwise, there will be another pulse. I have an empty bedroom at Baker Street."

"So you think I should be ok with that?" John asked suspiciously, instantly calming down. Holmes's grip was precisely what allowed him to recover his senses.

" Obviously. Now you have a place to live and feel safe in."

John had no choice but to agree, even if he was not very optimistic on the safety part.


End file.
